Men in Tights
by Kerkerian-Horizon
Summary: A quiet evening in 221B: John learns something unexpected about Sherlock, leaving him preoccupied with certain questions. Sherlock however wouldn't be Sherlock if he didn't know how to deduce. Right? It's probably a good thing they can't read minds.


**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.

**Author´s notes**: It´s not slash but can probably be read as such if you put on your strongest goggles.

I am no native English speaker and therefore apologize for any mistakes.

And now: enjoy!

o o o

**Cross-wired  
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o o o

"What do you mean, _never_?" John Watson incredulously stared at his flatmate, who only raised an eyebrow: "I really don´t think there´s a word _more_ adequate to describe the fact than the one I just used."

As far as Sherlock was concerned, the conversation was over, but John wouldn´t let him off the hook so easily: "But- how can you _never_ have been at the beach? Y-you live on an island, for heaven´s sake!"

Sherlock gave John a sardonic look: "Now that you mention it, yes, I do. Fortunately though it´s large enough that one doesn´t step into water the minute one leaves the house."

John snorted, unable to hide his amusement despite Sherlock´s biting response: "Are you telling me that your parents did not even take you_ once_?"

Sherlock was quickly losing his temper at being interrogated; if it hadn´t been John, he´d already have left, just to escape the questions.

"I don´t want to talk about it," he therefore said curtly, trying to put as much darkness into his tone as he could. John could be like a terrier and was annoyingly persistent once he had sunk his teeth into something, but he was also perceptive. He noticed the underlying warning and the way Sherlock was squaring his shoulders; preparing to fight off the intruding outside world. Including his friend if need be.

So John shrugged lightly, signalling that he would let go of the topic: "Okay..."

**o**

Sherlock waited for a while, relaxing marginally when it became clear that John soon was immersed in his novel. The detective steepled his fingers and went back to mulling over the case he was working on, his eyes resting on the man in the chair opposite of him.

It didn´t bother John that he was being watched, he was used to it. Yet after a while his mind strayed from the book he was reading. He still couldn´t believe that Sherlock had never been on a beach. Well, it was kind of difficult to imagine what he´d look like in swimming trunks, but as a kid...

John shook his head, briefly glancing over at his friend, who seemed deeply engrossed in thought. The doctor looked down on his book again, but the image of Sherlock in swimming trunks kept coming back to him, and he had to hide a grin, which Sherlock didn´t appear to notice.

John scratched his head; come to that, he wondered if there was any kind of sport at all which he could imagine Sherlock doing. Skiing perhaps? Or horseback riding? No, he was too tall. On the other hand though, Prince Charles was quite tall as well, and he admittedly was a seasoned horseman. John grimaced; no, you simply couldn´t compare the Prince of Wales and Sherlock Holmes. He sighed, his thoughts returning to horses. Maybe if the horse was tall as well. They reportedly did have a mind of their own after all, which might appeal to Sherlock. On the other hand, Sherlock in a battle of wills with a horse might go horribly wrong.

Hm. What about archery? That could be considered a noble pastime, as long as one didn´t think about men in green tights and ridiculous feathered hats. John stole another glance at Sherlock and had trouble to subdue a snort of laughter.

**o**

Sherlock couldn´t concentrate; John was thinking too loud. For once, the consulting detective didn´t bother too much though; the case turned out to be surprisingly boring, and the only reason why he was still sticking to it was his pride. He didn´t want Lestrade to think that he had given up, or worse, was stuck.

And now. What in the name of Lucifer and all his friends _could_ John be thinking about? He had stopped reading a while ago, and the way he was holding the book suggested that his current train of thought had nothing to do with the plot. Also, he was grimacing most amusingly from time to time, blushing visibly and obviously hoping Sherlock hadn´t noticed. The evidence, if one counted John´s rather tense posture at a particularly pronounced grimace, pointed to- to what?

Sherlock, having already deleted their earlier conversation about his lack of beach experience, frowned. There weren´t many topics which mirrored their inward discussion so obviously in John´s expression; he usually had himself under control. As a matter of fact, his poker face was remarkable. Yet there was no way around it; all things considered and all improbabilities ruled out, there really was only one thing which probably induced a case of such loud and pronounced thinking: sex. And the grimacing certainly coincided with the number of disappointing dates John had had lately. Which was practically _every_ date, and as far as Sherlock could tell, none of them had actually led to sex.

John´s eyes finally met Sherlock´s, and they both smiled.

Golf maybe. Although... leaving Sherlock with a bag of clubs might lead to objectionable results in case he got bored.

"No," John said aloud, completely unaware that he did so,"definitely _not_ going to happen."

Sherlock arranged his face so as not to grin complacently: _John Watson_, he thought smugly, _readable like an open book if you know him as well as I do_.

**o**

**The End**

**o**

Thank you for reading.**  
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